


Just Your Friendly Neighborhood Bully

by eleanorknows



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Different Shared History, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Same Old Dorks, different first meeting, movie theater AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanorknows/pseuds/eleanorknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movie Theater AU. The Milkoviches run some of their businesses at the local movie theater where Mickey is a bully, but mainly just to Ian Gallagher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Your Friendly Neighborhood Bully

**Author's Note:**

> This does not follow canon. Think of it as the same Southside with the same characters, but no Ian x Mickey storyline.
> 
> Well, this is me givin' it a go! It's been a long while since I've written something like this so...haha, I guess you'll see.

Ian is seething by the time he makes it to the neighborhood movie theater on 4th Street, a real shitty old place run by distant relatives of the Milkoviches. Standards operations are drug and weapons in the back and X-rated shows in one of the two screening rooms all day, every day for all the soft dicks of Southside Chicago.

Even Lip dragged him to an afternoon show once, back when he was twelve and still trusted the places his brother took him. They sat there amongst all the other underage neighborhood boys, except Carl who wasn't yet old enough to include boobies in repertoire of general destruction and chaos. Otherwise, this wasn't and still ain’t the type of place to be carding or caring but more _fuck you, fuck your grandma, and fuck the popo!_  The Milkovich brothers were also there chucking popcorn at each other and showering regularly back when they still had a mom. Then Lip grinned conspiringly at him as the movie started in all its ‘90s glory with a lot of girl-on-girl action and Ian had his  _well holy shit, guess I'm gay_ moment. He glanced around but everyone was earnestly engrossed.

Except a pair of blue eyes. Mickey Milkovich's.

The brunette scowled heavily in return as if they weren’t both scanning the room out of boredom and it was somehow all Ian’s fault. Then just like that Mickey was back to watching the screen with a rigid expression, almost like he’s enduring something damn tedious. So out of incredibly suicidal curiosity, Ian kept watching him; a realization that caused the older boy to grow red splotches all over his neck and face. The minute it ended, Mickey promptly kicked the back of Ian’s chair with a forceful vengeance as the Milkoviches bulldozed past everyone else to get out first. To top it off, he tossed an empty soda cup onto the redhead’s lap and walked off with a middle finger held up behind him.

That’s how they met for the first time. And probably why Mickey never left Ian alone after that.

But that’s digressing. What matters is right now, Ian extremely pissed off to be stuck in this heat sweating his balls off in the middle of July in front of Mickey Milkovich and his goon brothers. So there's three of them and one of him. So he didn’t think this through. Okay so maybe he didn't really think at all. Still, Ian stands his ground with arms crossed and probably the best bitch face he’s ever put on. If he could, he’d probably high-five himself right now.

“The fuck you want, Gallagher?” Mickey eyes him up and down, pausing to spit out the corner of his mouth before continuing, “ _Backdoor bitches: Revenge of the Hoes_ started 15 minutes ago, a fiver for entry."

Shaking people down for an entry fee outside and then again inside for a movie fee – welcome to the neighborhood! Ian rolls his eyes, "Definitely no."

Raising an eyebrow, Mickey studies him for another beat, "Well shit, didn't take you for a total fag but there's a fucking rom-com playing in the other room for three bucks."

The brothers snicker and Mickey smirks even wider, his chest puffed out like a proud rooster.

 _Cocka-fucking-doodledoo._ Ian narrows his eyes and purses his dry lips, "The watch, Mickey, I want it back.”

The menacing grin gets even wider as Mickey strides directly forward, stopping inches from redhead’s face. For a prolonged second he doesn't say anything, just stands there with their bodies so close to touching and they're sharing the same air.

“Gonna make me, asshole?” He dares the younger boy with a raised eyebrow.

Exhaling a puff of hot air, Ian pauses before squaring his jaw, “It's not even real, a bad imitation Frank bought from a street corner. Why do you even want it anyways?"

“You trying to tell me what to do with my fucking property, tough guy?” Mickey grinds out low and dangerous.

Ian knows that if Lip was here, he'd say something obnoxiously on point like compare it to stealing candy from a baby and challenge the main thing of value around here, manhood. Then they'd probably get their asses kicked but get some punches in anyways. If they're really lucky, they'd end up with the watch if it falls out of the right pocket at the right time. But it’s just him and he doesn’t feel like a trip to the ER.

So he sucks it up, grimacing briefly at the prospect before sighing, "It's fucking important to my sister Debbie and Carl really shouldn't have traded it for a gun so I need it back. I’ll return the glock."

"What the fuck, Colin?" Mickey glares incredulously back at one of his brothers, arms gesturing angrily, "You didn't even look at the watch when your bitch-ass traded for it?"

Shrugging indifferently as Iggy shoves him on the arm, Colin reaches into one of his pockets and tosses the offending watch to the head thug.

Exasperated, Mickey puts his empty palm out in Ian's direction and glowers even harder when the other boy just stares back at him, "The gun, give me the fucking gun before we're all up shit creek. Come the fuck on!"

"Give me the watch then," Ian challenges, his eyes never leaving the prized possession casually dangling in the other boy's hand.

Mickey grabs a handful of Ian’s sweaty t-shirt and pulls him close, their noses almost touching and their mouths line up with each other, “How about I just beat the shit out of you and take what I want? Trust me, you ain’t gonna like that. Me? I’m gonna enjoy it very fucking much.”

The older boy runs a tongue across his own lips, probably to quench them from the blazing heat because why else would he? Ian starts to breathe harder, swallowing thickly and he wants to believe it’s from fear but that’s definitely not it. This makes him search those blue eyes for an answer and he almost finds what he’s looking for, his stare returned with an equal intensity that burns and starts to turn his stomach. But Mickey glances away first, choosing to focus on Ian’s left shoulder instead.

"Just give me the damn gun before my dad does his afternoon count in a few minutes and realize a glock is missing and there’s no fucking payment. You really don't wanna know, Ian."

The cagey fear in Mickey is real. Ian has always known Terry to be one scary-ass motherfucker but for his own son to be so terrified? That makes the redhead incredibly sad. He feels cold chills down his back even with the searing sun beating down on his skin. With an acknowledging nod and quick explanation, Ian jogs back half a block and feels in the bushes where he buried the gun. Once his hand touches unfamiliar metal, he rushes back with it and shoves the weapon into Mickey's hand. Like a schoolyard game of hot potato, Mickey passes it onto Iggy and then his two brothers are gone.

Now it’s just the two of them and it could easily be awkward, but it isn’t. Mainly because Ian is strangely not intimidated of or disgusted by Mickey’s presence. Most people are, which makes this something like a one in a thousand chance, odds that are still way better than winning the lottery – not that he secretly feels like he did. And not that a Milkovich has got any fucking good karma or luck to win anything in this life, that’s from first-hand experience right there. So he allows it, this moment.

They end up sharing a smoke, leaning against the deserted side of the old building for shade.

Ian feels like smiling so he does, widely with probably too much giddy while his hands slide into the front pockets of his jeans. A fallback habit that keeps his fingers contained instead of fidgeting at his sides. Except the hot weather causes denim stick to his skin like glue and shoving his hands into the pockets makes that whole frontal area even tighter than he realizes.

But Mickey notices, stealing furtive glances and gradually shifting from one foot to the other. It gets too difficult to keep looking so he stares off into the distance, feigning indifference even though he’s listening to every word. He’s even saying a few things himself and damn, they’re having an actual conversation that’s not regarding the conditions of a trade. There might even be a part of him that secretly wants to do this every second of every day, but he quickly crushes that like a bug.

“Remember how much bullshit you used to give me whenever show up here?” Ian suddenly asks with a curious side-glance, “Until last year when I got too busy with ROTC and work after school.”

Of course Mickey remembers. His stomach did all these weird lurches whenever the redhead showed up with his siblings all playful smiles and uncomplicated joy. It made him want to follow behind like a lost puppy and he did just that, except with a special Milkovich flair. Like an old, territorial dog eager to bite.

Like purposefully sitting in the seat directly behind Ian’s, tapping the back of the chair relentlessly just so the younger boy had to turn around and scowl at him. On good days, they even got into arguments when Gallagher felt particularly fed up and his cute face turned a perfect tomato red to match his hair which Mickey definitely did not notice. Like grabbing the empty spot next to him midway through a movie and shoving a tattooed hand into the younger boy’s popcorn bag, leaving behind a complete mess as he walked off munching loudly. 

Like carding only Ian for a Disney movie and keeping the i.d. just to be a total bastard, not because he really liked the picture and kept it hidden in his wallet behind his own. Like running out of creative ways to be a bully so they just sat, heckled the film like little shits and chased all the others out. It was both easier and harder once Ian stopped coming around – it became both less complicated and kind of fucking devastating. So he locked the feeling away.

“You specifically? Nah, man. I pissed off everyone, gotta live up to the family name,” Mickey wipes at the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then pulls out another cigarette.

“Oh,” the taller boy responds with a disappointed half-shrug, almost saying something (Did you miss me then?) and then deciding against it, “Well, you definitely lived up to it. Mickey Milkovich, just your friendly neighborhood bully. Like Spiderman, but the complete opposite!”  

Mickey laughs, not sure if he's tickled by the idea or just because it's Gallagher saying it, "Damn right, and I don't even need a fucking costume so you're welcome, everyone!"

Firecrotch turns to face him with a side leaned against the wall and it makes Mickey’s skin crawl to suddenly have complete attention fixated on him. And that smile is still there, so unabashed and thrilled. Ian declines another smoke because they’ve had too many and even the sun slinked away hours ago. The theater also cleared out and closed down for the night. Mickey lights one for himself, feeling like he needs something to focus on doing.

“It’s getting late. I should go home before Fiona starts to seriously worry," Ian murmurs even though there’s no one else around so Mickey has no choice really but to lean in closer to catch the words.

“It’s only fucking midnight and it’s summer so there’s not even lame-ass school the next day,” Mickey retorts with a quick look at the watch that started it all, on his wrist out of convenience, “You need to be tucked in and read a fucking bedtime story too? How ‘bout it, Cinderella?”

His words are meant to be harsh because that’s the only language he speaks yet somehow it comes out more playful than malicious. It makes Ian laugh and Mickey really likes that. He moves in closer once more, his own side now also against the wall. Why, ‘cause he fucking feels like it and somehow the darkened sky makes it more okay. Grinning leisurely, he takes another huff of smoke before blowing it teasingly into the redhead’s face. Ian looks at Mickey’s lips an extra second too long and they’re both acutely aware of it. So the older boy continues and the younger boy watches raptly; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

When the last cigarette between Mickey’s fingers finally go out, it’s Ian’s turn to lick his lips and watch as the empty carton hit the ground with a lackluster bounce. The air is heavier now that they have nothing besides each other to concentrate on and even the shared looks carry a more loaded message. The brunette is motivated by urges beyond even his usual iron-grip control to suppress them, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip like a last chance wake-up call before he does this next idiotic thing. But Ian’s watching him with these hazed bedroom eyes and, oh shit, it’s all fucked already.

“How bad do you want it?” Mickey challenges slyly and holds up the wrist with the watch, “I'm in the mood to negotiate favors, lucky you.” _And lucky me._

They stare at each other with the same look, special grins forming.

“I want it fucking badly,” Ian delivers with his usual understated emphasis but very clear purpose, his fingers already unbuttoning the brunette’s jeans and dragging the zipper down, cupping his palm against a half hardened cock through thin boxer fabric, “I want what’s mine.”

Mickey’s so damn turned on but the argumentative thug in him is about to object peevishly; pretty sure what’s in his possession is definitely fucking his regardless of how- _oh wait, is Gallagher not talking about the watch and really-_

A warm, wet mouth takes him whole as both underwear and jeans pool down around his ankles, Ian hard at play stroking heavenly movements with his puckered lips and flickering tongue. Mickey lets out some embarrassingly whiny gasps and choked hisses, suddenly forgetting how to even think or function or pretty much anything. The younger boy’s hands grip tightly and domineeringly onto his ass, feeling up the supple fullness of both cheeks. A set of slender fingers slip away to wrap around the base of his cock, a thumb pad rubbing circular motions against his balls and he can't even begin to describe how good it feels. The night air hugs his bare skin, helping to cool down the heat traveling up his neck and face and just fucking everywhere.

Ian continues lapping a eager tongue along the length of the shaft, swirling heavy lines across the slit as pre-cum mixes in with his saliva. His lips stretch even thinner as he pushes the whole cock in as far as possible, deep-throating with low sounds that vibrates through what feels like the older boy’s entire body. Chancing a look, Mickey gazes down with half-lidded eyes and the image draws out pathetic noises he can’t even suppress in time. This causes Ian to peer up, dark lustful expression like he can’t get enough and Mickey groans achingly as the redhead doubles in speed with greedy touches of his fingers claiming any exposed area. His tongue drags a steady, purposeful line down the underside of the cock to the base before holding it in place against the brunette’s taut stomach. His attention refocusing on sucking gratuitously on each ball, plopping them in and out of his mouth with loud slurps.

Mickey’s eyelids clench shut and the back of his head tips against the wall for support, relishing in the rush of pleasure coiling from his limbs to the forefront and consuming his entire body. But with a jolt, he comes to instant attention when a pair of teeth lightly scrape along the length of his cock; nothing sharp or painful but a surprising sensation that’s _so_ Ian, he can’t help but adore it. But that’s his secret. Mickey glares down with his _seriously, you fucking bastard_ face only to see the redhead’s cheeky smile beaming up at him. Intuitively, Mickey smiles back and can’t stop smiling.

So he run his fingers fondly through ginger hair as Ian’s back to sucking his cock with the same inspired tenacity and rhythm that draws out more uneven, labored pants from his raw throat. In an overwhelming fog, he feels a hand that dips underneath his tank top and touch the tight expanse of muscles on his stomach, dragging blunt fingernails along its pathway that circles back to an ass cheek. His head knocks back against the wall again as the overpowering sensation washes over him with compounding force.

Mickey grips onto the younger boy’s biceps hard, his lips swollen from incessant biting, “Oh fuck, I’m so close, I-I’m gonna come soon.”

Ian continues sucking wantonly with hectic speed while his fingers massages the balls with equal attention, his mouth a sloppy warm mess as Mickey’s body tremors in strained anticipation. He's so close, so fucking close at the fringe about to fall in and drown. But the surging climax hits hard from the pit of his stomach and spreads like wildfire, leaving behind a path of destruction that temporarily destroys his defensive walls of solitude. Cum from his slit is slicked onto his cock as Ian continues his motions up and down, up and down while Mickey rides out his orgasm with strangled noises.

With a last lick, Ian leaves him clean and tingly sensitive before sinking his face into the crevice of the older boy’s neck, nibbling hungrily on an earlobe. Mickey whimpers with fractured need, the unfamiliar intimacy on an area of his body never touched that way before is almost life-changing. Then Ian’s tracing a few lines with his tongue along the brunette’s sweat-glistened cheek as their pulses start to return to normality. He runs his slender hand underneath the older boy’s tank top again, across a nipple and resting against a racing heart covered by an out-of-breath chest.

Mickey is blissed out; everything is a bit hazy except for the redhead in fucking beautiful high definition as their sweaty foreheads lean together. Ian readjusts enough to rub the tip of his nose against the older boy’s cheekbone and emboldened enough to place a pressing kiss just below there, close to another pair of lips, eliciting neither response nor rejection. His body is flush against Mickey’s side, a very stiff erection resting snug against the brunette’s thigh.

It’s such an _Ian_ thing to know, to understand, to nudge. He wants to kiss but is leaving it up to Mickey who could just skip that whole gay business and go straight into returning the favor. For a moment he imagines a reality where they never kiss, just fuck each other on the side until Ian finds someone better to settle with because, let’s face it, it’s never gonna be him who wants to leave. That makes him sad, almost too irrationally upset at just the thought of being left behind. Of a shithole movie theater waiting like a stupid bitch for a ginger boy that never shows up anymore.

So he does it, goes against every fucking ingrained instinct for survival. Mickey Milkovich tilts his head and leans in until their lips touch, almost gasping in strange surprise at the initial feel until Ian starts kissing back gently and guiding. They explore each other’s mouths with avid, sweet curiosity and the night air is the secret keeper of the sounds they make together. Mickey is a fast learner, kissing back fervently until they’re finding new ways to get impossibly closer with every touch, desperately mashing lips and tongues and teeth with impassioned enthusiasm.

It's like freedom intensified way beyond any capacity Mickey’s ever felt before and right now, it’s the best feeling in the whole world. His fingers are buried into Ian’s hair from the nape of his neck, moaning when the redhead sucks on his bottom lip before joining their lips again. Two teenagers making out with sloppy abandon and wildly intoxicated on each other, the way it should be. Even after they separate to properly breathe, Ian’s left arm stays wrapped around Mickey’s lower back while a gentle hand lays on his cheek and neck. Their foreheads rest against each other again as they take in the moment.

A moment far from perfect, makes it even better than perfect, makes it real.

Mickey plants a firm, chaste kiss on Ian’s mouth because the kid’s smiling too broadly, too open-heartedly for his general liking. He wants to be a grumpy asshole about it and make a snide remark but he can’t even fucking begin. So he makes an exception.

“Your turn,” Mickey cracks a genuinely happy smirk and sinks to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> Leaving this same message in all my stuff: I get anxious and self-conscious about my writing so I have to actively work towards building up enough confidence to read/respond to comments and look at stats. So please don't be offended if I don't respond in this century, I swear I'm not ignoring you and sincere apologies. Thank you SO MUCH for any comments, kudos, and bookmarking!


End file.
